


time well spent

by xxcaribbean



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcaribbean/pseuds/xxcaribbean
Summary: billy doesn't like surprises.scratch that. heloathesthem.





	time well spent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoppnhorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/gifts).



> based on a tweet that reads, there’s a man sitting at barnes & nobles rn & his wife keeps bringing him books to hold and saying “oh just one more” and he looked at me and said “she can get the whole store and i’ll carry it for her.”

Billy doesn’t like surprises.

Scratch that. He  _loathes_  them, and Steve knows there are very good reasons for the anxiety that wells in Billy’s chest when something is sprung on him at the last minute. So, when Steve had asked him if they could go somewhere together – no guesses and no reveals – Billy had sent him a trepid stare that revealed much more than he would’ve liked to have admitted.

But as it stands, Billy sweeps his gaze across the room, and his thoughts swing from  _this is a joke; it’s got to be a fucking joke_  to the haunted thought that  _this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me; fuck you, Harrington_.

He doesn’t know what to say, feels an awful lot like a fool for standing at the front of the store without losing himself to the massive amounts of shelves that litter the space. Billy finds that he’s stuck, boots like sandbags against the floor, and it doesn’t help that Steve’s staring at him with doe eyes, trying his best to gauge Billy’s reaction.

Thing is, Billy doesn’t even know what his overall feelings on the matter are, but he does know that his breath catches, and he may or may not feel the thick of tears at the corner of his eyes when he takes in the store from the highest vantage point they’ve got.

They’re standing in a recycled book shop, building full of used books, bins and shelves decorated with color and mustiness that only comes with ageing paper and creased spines. Billy might even say it smells a bit like mothballs, but the quality of air doesn’t compare to the way his chest tightens when he realizes that Steve  _thought_  about him, was considerate enough to do so amidst the effort and worry over whether Billy would freak out over the gesture.

“You don’t have to do this,” is what Steve is saying. They’re next to each other, shoulder-to-shoulder, with Steve’s sweater brushing against his leather jacket, looking so out of place and possibly suspicious the longer they stand in front of the door that had chimed as soon as they’d walked in. “I thought it’d be better if you had something to do, you know? You’re always re-”

“Anything?” Billy interrupts, sending Steve an apologetic smile when he snaps his mouth shut. The nerves the other boy feels are tangible, the anxiety radiating off of him tenfold because he’d  _planned_  this for Billy with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he’d like it.

Billy doesn’t really know how to tell him how much he actually loves it.

“Anything you want,” Steve answers, the corner of his mouth slowly curving into a sheepish smile. “I’d buy you the whole store if you asked.”

It’s so sappy that Billy shudders at the tone of Steve’s voice, the sincerity Billy derided long before he learned that Steve always means every word he ever says. He laughs, though, just a huff that makes his nose scrunch and the corner of his eyes crinkle in mirth. If he could, he’d take Steve’s hand in his, squeeze their palms together in a familiar gesture when he can’t find the words he wants to use to let Steve knows he cares.

But even without the ability to do that now, Steve already gets it. He gives Billy a gentle nod of understanding, reminiscent of Billy’s mother and the notion that he hadn’t thought anyone would ever replicate the general kindness she emanated.

That thought alone leaves him tender and raw underneath the mask of nonchalance he’s reveled in for so long.

“How much time we got?”

Steve shrugs, brows lifting along with the movement. “As much as you need.”

There’s guilt somewhere deep in his chest at the thought of Steve wasting his time dawdling behind Billy while he succumbs to the creeping excitement over the striking amount of literature at his fingertips. It’s the same awareness he basks in when he lingers in the library after a rough day, fingers ghosting over the jackets, which crinkle under the pressure.

But Billy also reminds himself that Steve brought him here,  _purposefully_  decided that taking Billy to an old, dusty bookshop was worth the time, was worth  _his_  time. “You’re sure about this?” Billy asks just in case, but he can see the ease in Steve’s shoulders and the thrum of elation that spreads so easily across his features. Steve may not be a bookworm, but he loves the fact that Billy is.

“I know a library is probably more practical,” Steve says as Billy finally draws them into the shop. There’s not many people in today, and the kid running register looks bored as hell reading through the local newspaper, but Steve’s voice fits quite nicely with the atmosphere: warm and scrupulous under the low lighting, illuminating only what’s most important, “but I know you love your mother’s copy of  _As I Lay Dying_ , and I thought used books, well-”

To which Billy pauses, keeps his eyes on Steve as he plucks a random book off the shelf, observing the cover both front and back, before returning it to the same spot he’d found it in. “Harrington-”

“-they tell a story of their own. We could go somewhere else, though.”

“Harrington,” Billy tries anew, but Steve’s on a tangent of nerves again, the kind that Billy doesn’t like because it means that Steve’s doubting himself.

“They could be new if-”

“ _Harrington_ ,” he finally says, undercuts Steve by reaching for his wrist. They’re between two bookshelves that tower over them, and no one else is in the aisle, so Billy takes advantage of what little privacy they have, doesn’t even think about hesitating as he pulls the boy flush against his body. “It’s perfect,” he says, noticing how easy it slips off his tongue. Billy cups the underside of Steve’s jaw, thumb rubbing small circles into his skin that not only eases the tension, but becomes an excuse just to touch Steve.

He’s incredibly tepid under Billy’s touch, going soft underneath his efforts. The brown of Steve’s eyes turns a little hazy as they stand there staring. Billy steals a kiss, short and sweet and realizes he likes the way Steve hums in return, a pleased purr following the delicate flush of his cheeks.

It doesn’t take much more than Billy grinning impishly for Steve to regain his bearings, pulling away from him as he clears his throat. “You’re such a menace,” Steve says as he pushes past Billy.

They take their time, Billy admiring nearly every book as they past shelf after shelf. Some of them he recognizes, while others he doesn’t, but he pulls them off the shelf, examines them, and then decides if it’s a keeper. In the meantime, Steve watches Billy with a fluidity he’s only seen a few times in his life – playing basketball, during sex. Billy handles each book with care despite the fact that some are falling apart at the seams. They’re old, don’t cost more than a couple of cents, but he acts as if every single piece matters.

“It’s not too many, is it?” Billy assures, glancing back at Steve who’s become the basket. Books are piled in his hands, overflowing to the point where he’s not sure if he’ll be able to hold another even if Billy tried to deposit one carefully.

But that’s not what Billy refers to when he takes a few from Steve’s hands, holds them in his own, licks his lips and stares at every book like he regrets his choices.

“You’ll read them all, right?” Steve asks, knows that some of the classics, the stories even he’s heard of, are burning holes right through his arms.

“Yes,” Billy says without pause, blinks back at Steve with owlish eyes that let him know the absurdity of the question.

“Then it’s never enough,” Steve supplies, manages to find a near-empty shelf to set everything on. Billy helps him, restacks the books so they’re neatly aligned and much easier to carry, and even then, he treats each book with just as much care as his mother taught him to.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Billy ends up blurting with the abysmal reflection that he was long past the point of feeling remorse. There aren’t a lot of things that get under Billy’s skin anymore, but sometimes things still do. In the wake of Steve’s kindness, this sorta feels like a little too much.

“Save it, Hargrove,” Steve insists, abruptly ending Billy’s tumultuous thoughts. He’s bundled all of the books close to his chest as if he knows exactly what Billy’s thinking, and it’s difficult not to come to the conclusion that he looks like a child unwilling to share.

It effectively stops Billy from sliding a few out of the stack to quietly place back on the shelf. “You fight dirty,” he mumbles, arms crossing over his chest in an attempt to look upset.

It doesn’t work, however, when Steve snorts and says, “It’s either this or me picking out an assortment all on my own.” He gives Billy a pointed look, a  _don’t argue_  one if Billy were gauging correctly, and then he continues, “We both know how well that would go. I’d like for you to  _not_  laugh at me for my choices in reading material. Thank you.”

“Alright,” Billy gives in, watches as Steve relaxes, handing him an entire stack like he’s trusting Billy not to run off with them. “But this is it, then. You’re not buying me anything else.”

There’s a glimmer in Steve’s eye, one that’s up to no good, and Billy knows it means the opposite of what he’s asked, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself because the, “Okay,” that slips from Steve’s lips definitely says one thing while everything about him says something else.

Billy doesn’t press it, however, knows better than anyone that Steve is just as stubborn as he is.

“Thank you,” he murmurs a few minutes later after Steve’s paid. The plastic bags are in his hand, heavy weights holding him hostage to the fact that Steve is everything he could’ve dreamed of and more.

He hopes his mother would’ve thought so, too.

Instead of shrugging Billy off or pretending he hadn’t heard his admission - both of them knowing that Billy doesn’t often do saccharine - Steve climbs into the car and waits for Billy to follow. “You’re welcome,” he says after a beat, when the heat is turned up and the slush from the light snowfall begins to disintegrate from the windows.

Billy rubs his hands together to warm them up, and despite the fact that they’re in a public parking lot, he leans in close to Steve, reaches for his hand before pressing his lips to the pink of Steve’s knuckles.

Steve, with everything he’s got in him, smiles beautifully.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu if ya want; i’m culebraliam on tumblr!


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